It's Not Easy Being A Mom
by clair beaubien
Summary: Early S12. Chapter 3: When Dean gets hurt, what happens when Mary offers to help?
1. Chapter 1

The ghost was restless, angry, and violent. It threw Dean and Sam into the dilapidated wooden fence just before Mary dropped the match that toasted its bones.

"Never mess with a Winchester," Dean said as he pulled himself to feet. "Right, Sammy?"

"Yeah, uh, Dean?" Sam sounded breathless but he was outside the glow from the Impala's headlights.

"What? Are you all right?" Dean looked around for his flashlight, lost when he got tossed. "Sam?"

Mary had her flashlight and directed it on Sam who was on the ground, one hand pressed against his ribs, blood dripping down onto the ground. "Sam!"

"I'm fine, I'm all right," he told her, still sounding breathless. "I just – I think I cracked a rib."

"You _think?"_ Dean asked as he and Mary both knelt beside Sam. "And all the blood would be from - ?"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, right. All right," Dean took the flashlight from Mary. "I'll stay here and get started taking care of Sam, you go to the car and get the first aid kit."

"Excuse me?" Mary took the flashlight back. " _I'll_ stay here with Sam and _you'll_ get the first aid kit."

"You're gonna stay with Sam? I don't think so."

"I'm his mother."

"I've been his mother longer," Dean said and grabbed the flashlight.

"And that matters now, why?"

"Fine, we'll let Sam decide."

They turned to Sam who collapsed backward onto the ground with a groan and a deep sigh. Before Dean and Mary could react, Cas was there.

"Sam, I heard you call – oh. Certainly, let me take care of that for you." He pressed his fingers to Sam's forehead. "There."

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said. He got to his feet and walked away from Dean and Mary.

Cas looked at them. "Did I interrupt something?"


	2. What Becomes A Mother Most?

"Ow – dammit!"

Mary and Sam were in the bunker kitchen. Mary was putting away groceries, Sam was chopping vegetables, and when he cursed she looked over to see him holding one hand in the other.

"What happened?"

"Ahhh, I cut myself. Not bad, just stings."

"Let me see." She took Sam's hands into her own to have a look. The cut was oozing blood but wasn't deep. "Here," she pulled a clean dish cloth from the drawer and pressed it against the wound. "Do you have bandages?"

"Yeah, in my room. I'll take care it."

"All right, but let me see…" Mary carefully pulled the dish towel away. The cut had stopped bleeding and on a sudden impulse she pecked a light kiss near it. "There, all better."

Sam said "Thanks," and smiled. "I'm gonna go put a bandage on it." He headed for the door and passed Dean just walking into the kitchen. Dean gave him a glance then his eyebrows pulled down in confusion and he gave another glance over his shoulder as Sam disappeared into the hallway.

"What's going on?" he asked Mary.

"Sam cut his hand. Not bad, it hardly bled. He's going to put a bandage on it."

That only increased Dean's look of confusion. "I'll make sure he can find the bandages," he said and followed Sam out.

Mary puzzled over that a minute – she knew Dean was overprotective but Sam was old enough and competent enough to put on his own bandages. It was Sam's face Dean had looked at, something in Sam's expression had concerned Dean.

Maybe Sam hadn't wanted her help. Maybe the ' _kiss it all better_ ' was a step overboard. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she needed to apologize.

She followed after them and was a few doors away from Sam's room when she heard him talking. "…then she kissed it and it was just – you know? – just the first time in my life, y'know, that I remember – and – I mean, I know it's stupid."

And calm, firm, and immediate, Dean answered, "No. It's not."

"I didn't want her to think – I don't want her to think I didn't want her to and I don't want her to think she had to and – "

"Hey, she's your Mom. She's not going to think anything. All right? C'mon, let's get that bandage on and finish making dinner, OK?"

"Yeah, okay," Sam agreed, and added, "Thanks," and Mary went back to the kitchen, got a clean knife and pretended she'd been busy chopping Sam's vegetables when he and Dean walked back in.

"Did you find the bandages?"

Dean huffed, "Filed practically alphabetical and by size. I remember one birthday, Dad got me a pocket knife and I cut myself on it and Dad fixed me up with a paper towel and duct tape then took us out for pie. _That's_ a bandage."

"How old were you?" Mary asked.

"Twenty-three," Dean said and that caused a burst of laughter from Sam. He walked to the table and put his injured hand on Mary's shoulder. The touch was light at first, hesitant even, then he gave her a gentle squeeze.

"I'll take over," he said. "Thanks. And -" he indicated his hand. "Thanks."

Mary smiled. "Anytime, honey."

##


	3. Intense

_**I** ** _nt_ ense love does not measure, it just gives. Mother Teresa**_

"Man, you'd think the Men of Letters would've installed their own crematorium," Mary heard Dean say to Sam as they walked into the library.

"They don't seem to have bothered with the dirty work of hunting," Sam said. "Hey, Mom."

"Of course not. Hey, Mom," Dean echoed. He was limping heavily. He and Sam had just got back from torching Ketch and Bevell. They'd taken showers and changed their clothes and Mary was about to go to the kitchen to heat up some food for them.

"Careful," she told them. "The floor's wet. I mopped up in here." Mopped up all the blood, but she left that part out.

"You didn't have to do that, Mom," Sam told her. "We could've taken care of that."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "We don't want you to –" He didn't get to finish his thought when he slipped and went down on his injured knee. "OW! DAMMIT!" he shouted, along with a string of more colorful words spit out through clenched teeth. Sam was at his side in an instant.

"Dean?! Are you all right? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just – aaaahhhh – _dammit_." He sounded breathless. "Oh, that hurts."

"All right, c'mon. Can you stand?" Sam hooked an arm under Dean's and started to lift him to his feet. Dean was pale and sweat had broken out on his forehead. His pant leg was bloody and his leg buckled when he tried to stand on it.

"No, no, nope. Standing's not such a good idea, Sammy. Just – let me sit, gimme a minute. Just give me a minute."

When Sam saw the blood, though, his expression turned furious. " _Seriously, Dean?_ " His voice was low, lower than Mary had ever heard it. "No. _No._ This is not 'sit a minute in a chair', this is 'get your ass to the medical room and take proper care of this'. C'mon."

"No, Sam. C'mon. It's just –" but Sam was already helping – dragging, forcing, all-but-carrying – Dean toward the stairs. "A couple of bandages, I'll be fine."

"No, you won't, Dean. Maybe we didn't have enough time to take care of this properly before, but we have time now, so we're going to take care of it. Now."

Mary followed them to the medical room. "What can I do?"

"Tell this idiot I'm fine," Dean said. Sam ignored both of them. He set Dean onto the gurney none too gently, then turned to begin gathering supplies.

"Can you get your jeans down? Otherwise, I'll cut them to get to your knee."

"Dude, I am not taking off my pants in front of my mother."

Mary had to laugh a little at that. "Dean, it's not like I've never –"

"The jeans come off one way or the other, Dean. Your choice."

Dean turned a look to Mary that was embarrassed, sure, but maybe a little bit shocked, too. "Somebody's bossy today."

"Is that a 'no', then?" Sam asked. He set his armful of supplies onto the table next to the gurney and picked up a pair of scissors, the shortened kind that Mary remembered being advertised as able to cut a penny in half.

"Sammy, c'mon."

"Cut it is." And in a swift movement Sam sliced the leg of Dean's jeans and the gauze underneath, up past his knee, exposing the bruised, bloody, angry looking gouge in his flesh.

"Can I help?" Mary asked again.

"When Sam gets like this you just have to – hey!" Dean barked as Sam made short work of untying and pulling off his boots and socks. "My feet are fine."

"You won't be able to bend your leg to get those off later. You're welcome. Here, put his under your leg." Sam pushed a towel at Dean and Mary helped him get it situated under his knee while Sam opened a bottle of thick, sharp-smelling liquid that Mary had learned was called 'hand sanitizer'. He poured a good-sized pool of it into his palm, rubbed his hands together, then flicked them to get rid of the excess. "Here we go. You know the drill. Sterile water first."

He opened the bottle and slowly poured it into the wound, washing out the fresh blood and old clots. Dean flinched and sucked in his breath and balled his hands into white-knuckled fists. Since Sam didn't seem to need any help, if he even realized she was there, Mary put a hand on Dean's shoulder for moral support.

"I think it's getting infected," Sam said. "We should've been taking better care of this."

"We were kind of busy," Dean pointed out. "Pour some whiskey in it, I'll be fine." But when Sam turned a look on him that was decidedly unimpressed, Dean decided, "Okay, no. Don't do that."

Then Sam spent several long minutes tending to Dean, intent on his task and silent except for an occasional _'keep still'_ or _'this'll hurt'_ and one, and only one, _'sorry'_.

When Dean's leg was finally, thoroughly, inspected, cleaned and encased in gauze and more gauze, Sam stood back. "All right. That'll do for now. Stay off of it, as much as you can. I'll check it again, later. You still have those painkillers?"

Dean waved his hand, "Yeah, yeah. I know the drill, Sammy. Now excuse me while I go get changed. _Again."_ He took his boots and socks and limped out of the room. Sam started cleaning up and Mary started feeling invisible.

"I'll go make lunch," she said and headed for the kitchen. She caught up with Dean in the hallway. "That was intense, wasn't it?"

He chuckled. "You have no idea. And that was Sammy when he was only _slightly_ concerned. Try picturing him _pissed._ That'll give you chills." He went into his room and Mary went to the kitchen to get started on lunch.

She'd put a few cans of soup on to heat up and was pulling out the makings for sandwiches when Sam came into the kitchen, and she wondered what his mood was going to be. He smiled at her and pulled her into a hug, pressing his cheek against the top of her head.

"Thanks for helping with Dean."

##


End file.
